To Exist In A Broken World
by Smashing.exe
Summary: In a diseased and dying world inhabited only by Pokemon, a young Dewott drug dealer exists in the slums of a futuristic city. He is sixteen and a half years old. Unbeknownst to him, the city is about to be shaken to its very core, and he's going to be right in the middle of it. OCs accepted.
1. Introduction

**A Foreword**

_The good thing about being the leader is that you get to make the important decisions. The politicians (or asshats who are all bark and no bite) of the city want me to record our story for future generations. What a laugh. The knowledge they want is information that can only found through the blood we shed and the trials we faced. That's something I don't want anyone to experience, ever. Part of the reason why we worked so hard, honestly. But they may have a point. If there's anything the hell we faced has taught us, it's that the future is a great unknown. Anything can happen, and it's best to be prepared. To make these politicians to shut up, I've written down what I feel will be important._

_The key phrase being: 'what I feel will be important.'_

_They want me to write my memoirs. Fine. I'll do it. But I'll do it my own way. And I'm strong and experienced enough to get my way._

**The Past**

_In my opinion, the past is nigh irrelevant to the future. We Pokemon have made the same mistakes over and over again throughout history, and we never seem to learn. But I hope that through our actions, the next generation can finally acknowledge the world around them, and work towards shaping it for the better._

_There is something I feel needs to be mentioned. A thousand years ago, there were apparently over six hundred species of sentient, living Pokemon in the world. Fast forward to today. There exist less than two thirds of that amount._

_Now examine the world we live in, the recent past and the present._

_Think about it._

* * *

The year is 300X.

Technogakure. An awkward mismatch of present and ancient tongue, loosely translating to 'the city of technology.' The damn name had been plastered on billboards everywhere, like an irremovable black stain.

An apt analogy for miles and miles of refined metal, concrete, neon lights and not much else. A metropolis that had discarded the soul for progress. The result of a thousand years of development, the obvious question notwithstanding. If nature is what you want; you've definitely come at the wrong place, at the wrong time.

Population: estimated around 20 million Pokemon, perhaps even more.

A Dewott stepped out into a near-deserted street, the bag containing his meagre possessions slung over his cobalt back, his beady black eyes staring up at the sky above. Today's forecast: dark grey smog. The sad truth was that today was far better than most days. He, and the rest of the city, had lucked out.

"Leaving already?"

The Dewott turned around, seeing a middle-aged Kangaskhan caretaker stand on the front step. She smiled at him, eyes glistening. The feeling was mutual. Behind her, children of differing species squabbled and played amongst the hallways.

"I'm sixteen already." The Dewott said. "Time to move out, like the rest."

"You will always be welcome here, you know." The Kangaskhan said. "You, and the rest of the orphans that I've found on the street, will always part of my family. If there's anything you need: a warm meal, a bed for the night or even motherly advice…just ring the doorbell."

"I know." The Dewott stepped forward and embraced the caretaker, his head coming to a rest on her shoulder. The Kangaskhan's eye briefly widened in mild surprise, before returning the hug. "But as you said, every meeting has its farewell. I've grown up, and it's time for me to see the rest of the city. But I will miss you, Mother Dolorosa."

"And I will miss you too, child." Dolorosa said. "The future is not bright in this city, but I hope yours turns out for the best."

They let go. Nothing more needed to be said.

"Goodbye, young one."

"Goodbye, Mother Dolorosa. Thanks for everything you've done for me."

With that, the young Dewott walked off down the street at a leisurely pace, his meager possessions jangling in his bag, heading towards an uncertain future.

* * *

**The Location, Part I**

_There's not really much I want to say about Technogakure…yet. Obviously we went there, but that happened much later. Its towering skyscrapers and twisting roads are irrelevant to the first stages of the story. Don't get me wrong, Technogakure is a nice enough place—a lesson that took some of my friends a bit too long to learn, but that's not the place where everything began._

_I don't know where I was born, but I do know where I originated from._

_The main focus of this section will be about south side of the city. The part with its foot stuck in the grave for years and years._

_The infamous Downtown._

Walk past the Statue of Honor, head across the rusting iron bridge, traverse the maze of streets and buildings, and finally make your way through the abandoned police blockade.

Welcome to Downtown. A stark contrast to Technogakure. Disease, felonies and poverty. It used to be the secondary manufacturing sector of the city, before gang war broke out and the whole place went under lockdown. Now it was riddled with crime; square kilometres of abandoned warehouses, stolen goods and violence.

The strong bullied the weak.

"_Keep your wits about you. Stand tall. Don't let anyone see your weakness. Otherwise, you're a smear on the sidewalk."_

It's a known fact that police no longer respond to an alert from Downtown. Partly due to fear, partly due to the sheer danger that awaits them. That clause was made over fifty years ago. It's what happens when you force arrested gang members into weapon manufacturing. Laser weapons, in particular.

"What do you want?"

The Dewott leaned back on a broken lamp post, arms crossed. A tray lay on the ground in front of him. Sample packets lay inside. White, black, ginger and green.

Drugs.

Cocaine, meth, weed, ice and every toxic chemical under the smog. Slow, addictive killers.

This was his job. Buy stock, deal it, watch as his customers grew addicted day after day; some vanishing from the face of Downtown forever.

There was no honor in selling drugs, and the Dewott knew that. But there was also no honor in starving to death, without a roof over one's head. And the latter was far worse than the former.

A Kabutops jigged crazily in front of tray, claws twitching violently. The Dewott saw the blood streaking through his dilated pupils. This guy was on speed, amphetamine to be scientific. His paw casually drifted down to his shock rod—Downtown slang for a laser pistol. Drug dealing could get violent, especially if the customer was all hyped up. He had years of experience.

"Speed. Four packets. Now!" The Kabutops chattered, fangs grinding. The Dewott rolled his eyes and reached into a pouch attached to his belt. It used to amaze him how some people would forgo food and shelter exchange for chemicals that would eventually kill them.

Time had done a number on that. Their world, their rules.

"That'll be 100 dollars."

The Kabutops shoved a wad of coins and bills into the Dewott's hands and scuttled off, presumably to find a deserted spot and snort the powder up his nose.

The Dewott sighed and slouched back on the lamp post.

That guy was a criminal, renowned for murdering people while high on whatever drugs he could get at the time. Speed and ectasy were a personal favourite. He was well aware of this, and yet he still sold him the goods.

Life in Downtown, and by extension the rest of the future world.

Look out for yourself.

* * *

_It's shocking, isn't it? After all, drugs are outlawed in Technogakure, punishable by long-term imprisonment or death. In Downtown, however, people are allowed to do whatever the hell they want. It's unfortunate that conditions like those bring out the worst in people. And who's going to stop them? The gangs? If anything, they encourage it._

_But that was life for sixteen years. Harsh, brutal, merciless. You'd either adapt or get spat out and crushed into mush. I learned the drug trade when I was ten years old, unevolved. Traders would stop by the orphanage to say hello, and I picked up the knowledge from them. I started working when I was thirteen. I made a lot of mistakes in three years, but eventually I grew independent enough to support myself._

_It's a terrible job, selling chemicals that literally kill people. Why do you think I left the orphanage at sixteen? Normally kids are supposed to move out at eighteen. I was setting a bad example to my peers. They saw the cash I was taking home; the stock stuffed under the bunk. For impoverished kids, the prospect must've been really exciting. But Mother Dolorosa and I didn't want them treading down the same path. Drug dealing brings in a lot of cash, but there are costs you have to pay—moral, physical, mental. _

_It's arguably not worth it._

_I grew up as a somewhat cynical person. Seeing the world around you does that to you. Logic first, belief last._

_I never believed in things unless they were real. Even then, that's not believing. You know that something has been proven to exist, so how can you believe in it?_

_You just know._

"Child, do you believe in Arceus?"

The Dewott looked up. An elderly Alakazam, dressed in tattered robes, peered down at him. She was the local priest. Her home: a church with cracked stained glass and worn pews.

"No." He replied, looking back down again to his phone. "I do not believe that a god exists."

The priest hummed. "It's said that once Pokemon find faith, their lives become much happier. It guides them through the day, hope keeping their spirits. What about you, child? What makes you get out of bed in the morning to face the world?"

"The will to survive." The Dewott said in a monotone, tapping the touch-screen lightly. "If I don't get up and sell stock, I won't have anything to eat. Simple as that."

"You sound quite miserable. Perhaps you should convert to Arceism, then. Attend a sermon or two. Maybe you'll find peace in your soul." The priest suggested. "How about it?"

"Thanks, but no thanks." The Dewott muttered. "I really am not interested. And I definitely am agnostic."

"A true shame, then." The priest muttered, "Do you mind explaining why, though?"

The Dewott looked at the Alakazam. His gaze wandered over to the red smog lurking above, the cracked roads, the drug sack tied to his belt and the laser pistol loaded with its ammunition.

Downtown stared right back.

"What do you think?"

_Miracles are fake. Myths are fake. Everything that couldn't be proven science or evidence did not exist._

_That's what I believed, anyway. It's not like I was ashamed or anything. Most people in Downtown are cynical to some degree. The atmosphere does that do you. Why have faith when nothing good ever seems to happen?_

_But then our adventure happened._

_And everything changed._

_Looking back now, as a more mature and experienced person, I now know that I was so, so very __**wrong.**_

_My name is Izanagi. I am a Dewott, a pure Water-type. At the time of beginning of our story, I was sixteen and a half years old._

_Welcome to my world._

* * *

**A/N: It's been a while since I've written a Pokemon fic. Welp, here I am now. For those unaware, this is a rewrite of an old fic 'The Fool: The Hero'. It was a terribly written piece, full of bad joke and shocking character development. Now that I've grown more as a writer, I think I can fully explore the world of Technogakure and Downtown to a higher degree.**

**Fun fact: when I deleted my old stories, I actually managed to save a bunch of submitted OCs beforehand. That goes for 'Genocide' as well (which may be rewritten in the future!) Didn't get the names of the creators, which is disappointing. That's why OCs are optional, anyways. I already have a bunch of characters, but more are always appreciated. One of my favourite things to write is dialogue, particularly humorous kind.**

**Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

**Optional OC Form.**

**Send your OCs through reviews or PMs. Anonymous forms will not be accepted. Please try to use proper grammar and punctuation, and do not put in the italic text when writing your form.**

Name: _(Self-explanatory.)_

Gender: _(Male, female or Genderless)_

Species: _(All Pokemon are allowed except for fully-evolved Dragon-types, shinies and legendaries. And Dewotts. Sorry, Izanagi is the only Dewott in this story until further notice.)_

Occupation: _(What does your OC do as a living? Use your imagination.)_

History: _(Insert some background details about your character's life. MAKE IT DETAILED. Three to five sentences would be appreciated. I can write at least a whole paragraph about my character. The more information, the better. In the previous incarnation of the story, I got a form from one guy who went absolutely ballistic, writing five to six paragraphs. Pretty cool, though. Go nuts if you wish.)_

Personality: _(What is your character like? MAKE IT DETAILED AS WELL. Three to five sentences. Like above, try to write a whole paragraph.)_

Special Word: (_?...this is optional. One word only, thank you very much.)_

Other: _(Anything else your character does? Is there something that puts him apart from the rest of his species?)_


	2. Define

**A/N: The time between the introduction and this chapter is a painful reminder to all of us that I really should plan out my writing before starting it.**

**Seriously this thing went through two drafts, and even then I don't think I'm completely satisfied with it.**

**My sincerest apologies. I promise to start the third chapter right away.**

* * *

_from pm import tytalis;_

_define function = narrative_

_[narrative].execute() ;_

_print narrative_

Six years ago, if he had told Izanagi that he would be sitting in his very own apartment, typing away at a laptop, he would have laughed in your face. Orphans were obviously too poor for personal computers. The orphanage already had enough trouble, with its age-old desktops and at least five times that amount of kids trying to use them. There was no way he would be able to afford one, not in a million years.

Of course, at that time, he wouldn't have understood the monetary appeal of selling drugs on the street.

_hey guess what_

What?

_a new game has come out on the app market_

_and it's totally awesome and addictive_

_goty 3013 man_

_me and my bro have had shitloads of fun playing it_

Really, now?

Izanagi blinked, his whiskers twitching, and looked deeper into the glare of the computer screen. It was one of those old LCD versions, the type that would fry your eyeballs if you stared at it for too long. He had booted up the creaking machine to check the Internet, part of his daily routine, when one of his old friends from the orphanage started messaging him. Rare, as he hardly ever chatted with people online. He couldn't really find much to talk about in the first place.

So, what is this mysterious game of yours about? He replied, under the nickname 'unearthlyspontanic'.

His friend, a chap by the name of TheIntrospectivePrimate, replied almost instantly.

_it's a puzzle game_

A puzzle game. Izanagi typed back. And why do you think I would be interested in a puzzle game? I can barely run last generation's games on this shitty laptop of fine.

_yeah man i know_

_but_

_this is way better than all the other puzzle games out there_

_it's for the mobile and it doesn't hog a lot of RAM. _

Okay.

_seriously dude you should definitely try it out_

_its not like you have stuff to do today_

I do have stuff to do today. I have to work.

_i don't_

Your point being?

_look i'll just send you to apk over_

_just try it. you won't regret it._

Fine. Send me the file. Then hold on a few minutes. I need to eat something.

Ignoring the protest of '_come on man, don't leave me hanging' _scrawled across the computer screen, Izanagi stood up from his desk and walked the few paces towards a small, bare kitchen.

_Another day, another batch of drugs to sell. _The young Dewott yawned and stretched. _Same old, same old. _

Get up. Eat food. Equip, leave and head to the streets to sell drugs. Every day was the same. For him, there were hardly any full rest days. He had to work; to survive.

He boiled water and made himself a cup of sim-coffee, more for the warmth than the taste. The prefix described the beverage perfectly, both in composition and taste. 'Just like the real thing!', the satchets claimed. Izanagi rolled his eyes. Coffee beans had gone extinct long ago. Then scientists discovered a way to emulate the taste by mixing together certain compounds, and Technogakure's most popular morning beverage was thus born.

The drink was done in two minutes. He blew air and sipped some of the steaming brown beverage straight from the cup. Of course, it didn't taste as good without sugar, something Izanagi couldn't really afford, but it was great for waking up in the morning.

Food came next.

He tore a hole in the cellophane wrapping of a flash meal pack, then stuck it in a battered microwave and set the heat to high. Beef and potato breakfast, read the label. The meal packages had been army rations before the worldwide ceasefire had come into place. Now Downtown suppliers bought up the surplus and sold them to the starving residents of the sector for an inflated price.

But at least he could afford to buy extra, in case the shit hit the fan and he found himself without work.

Artificial flavouring, saturated with preservatives and hormones buried deep in every bite…this was the meal of the future, and Izanagi had been eating their type since he was a little Oshawott.

_Wonder what the kids in the orphanage are doing right now. _The tiniest hint of a grin appeared on his mouth. _Mother Dolorosa is probably screaming at them to get up to eat their breakfast._

His gaze wandered over the computer, the food steaming gently in his paws. _I shouldn't leave him waiting._

_(unearthlyspontanic is no longer idle)_

I'm back.

_fucking finally_

_so here's the file_

_download it with your phone and get ready for hours and hours of sicknasty fun_

That's it?

_yeah_

Izanagi just shrugged and retrieved out his phone. The instructions were simple enough. Flipping on Bluethooth, he synced it with his computer wireless communication system, directly sending the file from the Net into the 1TB store space.

**Apk. File found. Install?**

_Sure, why not? _Izanagi thought, and tapped the screen once.

**Installing…**

**Installing…**

**Application successfully installed.**

**AETHER**

**A Trial of the World Beyond**

**New Game**

**Load Game**

**Settings**

And that was it. The game had been activated, revealing its full glory to the young Dewott. A simple logo, a couple of yellow buttons a light blue background dotted with clouds and tinny music vibrating through the speakers. The so called 'goty 3013', straight from the mouth of one TheIntrospectivePrimate.

Truly, this was the most impeccably designed game of the generation, hugely satisfying to complete with impressive backdrops and lovingly hand-painted environments.

Izanagi shovelled some food in his mouth, to sate the shrieking hunger inside of him, and started typing.

What the hell is this shit.

_oh you finally downloaded it_

_what do you think?_

It looks like crap.

Seriously, this is your game of the year?

Unbelievable.

_dude you haven't even fucking tried it out yet_

_press new game_

What exactly is the point of this game?

_just start the damn thing already_

I asked first.

_fine_

_the game gives you a riddle and then you have to solve it_

_that's it_

_for some reason it's hella addicting_

…

Are you kidding me.

That's it?

_yeah, so?_

Sigh.

I really don't have time for this.

_what oh come on_

I have work to do. Actual stock to unload off to people.

_dammit izanagi im not working today and neither is my little bro_

Your bro is ten years old, man.

Look, I promise I'll try this Aether game out later, but I need to finish my breakfast.

Then I have to get onto the streets.

See you around.

_(unearthlyspontanic has logged out)_

He shoved his laptop aside, across small steel table. More important things were at stake here, stuff that didn't consist of him wasting precious hours on video games.

No, he had to first quell the raging beast inside his stomach, by calmly eating the remainder of his breakfast.

So he proceeded. Spoon in mush, spoon out of mush, put eating utensil in mouth, and swallow.

He ground through each mouthful slowly, not bothering to wonder about the finer details of the meal pack. It had three sections: meat, vegetable and carbohydrates. All of them looked nothing like the advertisements. Knowing would probably end up dampening his mood anyway.

He washed down most of it with the sim-coffee, the unique bitterness of the beverage masking the dryness of the food.

_God, that game looked like ass. Well, it's not fair to judge a game based on its graphics, but it doesn't look like much fun. _He thought, as he lobbed the plastic tray, in an arc, into the bin. He would have to take out the trash later this week. _Why the heck did he try to get me to play it?_

He sighed as leaned back in his chair. The hard plastic creaked. I'm_ a drug dealer. I don't have time for that stuff. Focus on securing your next meal. Pay your electricity bills. Survive for another day._

_I'll give it a whirl later, but I probably won't enjoy it. _He whispered to himself as he climbed up and headed for the doorway. He did that a lot. Sometimes the emptiness around him needed to be filled, even with his own words.

_It's not like video games are life-changing experiences. _He thought. He couldn't help but smirk at the mental image of a game destroying the world. That sort of stuff only happened in teenage webcomics. _My world won't be any different, now that it's installed on my phone._

He packed up his stock, equipped his shock rod and walked towards the door.

Time to work.

XXX

The sky was dreary as usual. No sun. Dark grey clouds, and cascading sheets of rain with every second. The young Dewott stood outside the steel-grey apartment building, right under its looming shadow, looking up through the gap in the buildings.

Izanagi couldn't remember the last time he had seen clear skies. No-one could. Toxins in the air caused water molecues too bond efficiently, too efficiently. They fell to the ground like missiles, smashing the pavement and taking out the eyes of those unfortunate to look up during the storm.

Strangely, Izanagi had never really concerned himself about the rain. He could tolerate it to an extent. It was more or less an annoyance, soaking through his fur, making him cold and miserable. Reports of conditions like his had popped across the city. The big scientists in the labs were apparently trying to source out the reason for this.

Whatever.

_Where should I go now? _He thought, staring at the pouring water. _To the market district? Should I just stay at home today? _His hands wandered down to the butt of his laser pistol. Always keep your clip loaded—a rule that he had learned quicker than some.

Mail had arrived on his phone. A strange occurrence, he thought. Nobody had sent him a text in weeks. They were too busy with their own lives, probably. His somewhat antisocial nature didn't really help matters, too.

From Rune Johanson, the message read. Instantly memories flooded into Izanagi's mind, like the water rushing through a hole in a dam. Painful, embarrassing memories of him being kicked out of a bar for trying to sell drugs, with the Lopunny bartender yelling at him at the top of his lungs. One of his former friends from the orphanage had tried to take photos of the incident. He had been forced to yank the phone out of the dude's hands and toss it in a nearby trash incinerator.

_Why? Just...why?_

He cringed and rolled his eyes. Might as well check out the text. Hopefully, it wouldn't be something completely humiliating this time.

_To Izanagi,_

_I heard from some of my my patrons that you're always on the lookout for work that doesn't involve selling drugs. It just turns out that today a big party is headed towards my bar, and I need a few extra hands to set up. Would you be willing to help?_

_P.S. Please don't try to deal drugs in my bar. Don't make me sic my bouncer on your ass._

_From Rune._

_Well, this is certainly interesting. _Izanagi said, shoving the phone into his pack. _Somebody is actually offering me work. Fuck it, it's not like I have anything better to do today. Even so…_

He checked his supply of drugs. Light, almost empty. This was no good. It could be corrected, but there were certain methods he would need to follow.

First, a visit to the outpost.

That would kickstart off his morning well enough.

XXX

"Are you sure you don't want to sign up?"

Izanagi stared into the dark shades of Krookodile dealer with an increasingly unamused look in his eyes. "You ask me this same question everytime I come here. The answer is no."

When Downtown had been abandoned, the sector's residents had quickly taken roost in the numerous empty buildings. Police stations were a prime example. Chock full of weapons, supplies and powerful technology, they became notorious for housing gangs and their kin.

Izanagi sat on a prosthetic leather swivel stool, idling picking at the cotton stuffing through the cracks. In front of him a desk, a wall of reinforced transparent plastic on top, and a hole at the middle of the very bottom.

Had this been a place of order and righteousness, a police officer would have sat behind the counter, carefully storing any confiscated items.

Now it was host to boxes and boxes of drugs. Cocaine, weed, meth…all of which were prime and ready to be dealed out and sold on the streets.

"You'll never be more than a hanger-on if you keep up like this." The dealer said. "Nobody respects hangers-on. They're treated worse than a nest rust mites."

"I'm not even seventeen years old." Izanagi growled. "I just want to take life one day at a time. Is that too much to ask." _And I want to live. _He added mentally, keeping his expression as neutral as possible. You couldn't say these types of things around here. It often led to getting your skull caved in.

"I'm only offering you this because you're good at who do. Not many people pay their deposit as fast as you do."

"Sorry, I'm really not interested." _The only reason I pay your fee so quickly is because I'm a cautious guy. _

The Krookodile dealer sighed. "Well, I can't force you to sign up. Still, if you change your mind…"

"Yeah, no." Izanagi said. "Now, are you going to give me the drugs or not?"

"Fine." The dealer adjusted his shades, then passed over several small cardboard boxes. Dull brown outside, colourful inside. It was the standard set Izanagi was sent out to sell on the streets. Cocaine, meth, cannabis and even a few satchets of LSD—It would take him at least a week to rid himself of it all. "Your fee is 30% as usual. We expect you'll have the 70% delivered to us in a fortnight. Standard penalties apply."

"Yeah, thanks." Izanagi stuffed the boxes inside his pack and stood up. He didn't really like staying in gang hideouts. For outsiders like him, the tension in the air was as thick as proverbial butter. Not that he would know—he couldn't afford said condiment. "See you later, I guess."

"Oh, by the way." The Krookodile called. Izanagi sighed and turned around. "An order for some cannabis came by this morning. Think you could deliver it?"

"A package?" _More work for me, then. _"Very well. I'll do it.'

* * *

_I don't believe I need to provide much exposition on the most notorious gang in Downtown. Chances are, you've already heard about them already._

_Strega._

_The symbol of a crimson blood streak, crossed with a gun. I practically saw that sign every day. Out of all the gangs and groups in their sector, they were most prominent, controlling the majority of the streets. Fuck, they even had their grubby hooks in the water filtration station and the local power plant. They controlled the apartment I lived in, and I had to pay the rent on top of the drug dealing deposit fees. That's how enormous they were. _

_You could say Strega were my first employers. This being a rather loose term, mostly because I never really was part of their gang. Every fortnight, one of their members would give me a huge set of drug packs. I had a fortnight to sell them all, and rake in the cash. They would demand 70% of the money. The rest I got to keep for myself. _

_And that was my life. Well, until everything I knew came cascading down around me._

_Since then, Strega has changed. Big time._

* * *

One word could describe the delivery run: irony. It was small comfort for Izanagi, as he trudged from the gang outpost back towards the south. Of all the people in Technogakure to order that one package today, and of all the places in Downtown to receive it from…it just had to be Nix Wildfire, otherwise known as Izanagi's next door neighbour.

_Dammit Nix,_ Izanagi thought bitterly, walking back towards the apartment building as the rain battered down on his teal fur. Discontent coursed through his mind—something not usual for him. _You don't even smoke that much weed. You probably still have a batch left at home._

He pushed open the dusty glass doors, marked with the disgusting Strega sign, and entered the elevator. Up he went, the little metal box clanking and rumbling through the shaft. The things were damn unreliable, breaking down at the worst of times. But, Izanagi reasoned, it sure beat climbing four flights of stairs with a bag loaded with drugs on your back.

"Nix, get out here." He said, slamming his paw on the intercom. He didn't even have to ask. He knew how much of an introvert she was, or so she claimed. "Your package is here."

A second of silence, then a soft voice vibrated through the miniscule speakers.

"Coming."

The iron door opened; it swept across the enamel floorboards. He looked up and saw a Blaziken staring down at him. Instead of the usual yellow most of her kind wore, she had white feathers coated around the lower portion of her legs.

"Hey."

"Izanagi…" Nix muttered. _Quiet as usual, huh. _He had always seen her like that, ever since the day she moved in."How much?"

"One hundred dollars. For the weed and the acid tablets, correct?" Izanagi rummaged through his pack for the goods.

"Yes." Nix followed and searched through a small leather pouch for notes and coins. Behind her, Izanagi could see piles and piles of boxes, along with a futon and a small stack of machine parts. The air tasted a little musty, despite the curtains behind thrown open.

"Been jacking cars with Strega again, huh?" Izanagi said, eyeing the boxes as he handed over his. No doubt they were full of contraband: wires, engine components and other assorted materials. "You're going to fill your apartment with refined steel and rust mites if this keeps up."

"I've yet to deliver these parts to the factory." Nix said firmly. "But it's raining today. Everyone knows what that means."

"Yeah, I do." He sighed.

An uncomfortable silence passed as the two Pokemon tried their best to not to stare at each other in the eyes. Izanagi fidgeted with his bag, and Nix looked down. Inevitable really, given Nix's shyness and Izanagi's somewhat antisocial behaviour. He suddenly felt glad no-one was around.

"See you," Nix mumbled, and closed the door.

"You too," Izanagi muttered, and headed down the hallway towards his room. If he was going to work at Rune's bar, he wouldn't be allowed to sell drugs. The woman got tetchy if he did so. It was quite maddening, considering she burned through multiple cigarette's a day. Since he was on his floor, he might as well drop off his stock at his home anyway. Wouldn't want some crazed junkie to try and assault him for his drugs, considering Downtown's population…

* * *

_Nix, is—no, was rather distant and disconnected from her peers. I will not detail why, partly because I want to avoid spoilers, and also because her past is something that needs quite a bit of explaining to do. A few paragraphs won't be sufficient._

_Though, if you asked the old her about it, she would say even less than that amount._

* * *

Sweat, blood and testosterone. The Four words could sum up the whole of the underground fight club. Owned by Strega, Downtown's most notorious gang, the place was a haven for the aggressive and the deranged; a pit where they could put their inner rage to use, by viciously destroying their opponent in every way possible.

_There are no rules for fighting, aside from not using the audience. _The sign on the front entrance read. _If you're too much of a pussy to enter, fuck off._

Izanagi knew he had to be careful here. He had seen a couple of old wild west flicks as a kid, and couldn't help but make comparisons every time he descended down the dust-covered stairs. Fights could get started over every little thing. A fine line existed between being too passive and being too aggressive, and he had tread carefully along it.

He trod down the stairs, avoiding any patrons. Despite the atmosphere, he couldn't help but grin. The fight club was a prime spot for him. He could sell a great number of drugs here, especially on tournament days.

After dealing out some packs of cocaine to a group of bystanders, his eyes noticed a young Mienfoo, a damp towel slung around her neck. He smiled, and walked over to sit down next to her. Her body reeked of sweat, streaking through her fur and coating her muscles. Someone had been working out for most of the morning.

"Yo." He said, plonking himself on the steel bench.

The Mienfoo whipped around with an almighty scowl, but softened upon seeing Izanagi's otter features. "Oh. It's you."

"Not going to school today, huh?" Izanagi muttered. "What is this, the hundredth time you've played hooky?"

The Mienfoo scowled. "You know full well why I don't go there. Besides, they've probably already crossed my name off the list by now." She placed her head in her hands, watching a fight between a heavily built Aggron and a Hitmonchan in one of the rings. It abruptly ended when the Hitmonchan smashed the Aggron right in the ribs, sending the iron beast crashing to the ground.

"Sure, whatever." Izanagi replied. "By the way, has your dad suspected anything yet?"

"Nah." The Mienfoo said, ripping off the towel and slapping it down next to her. "Still thinks I'm keeping up with my_ education. _Andhe wonders where the steady stream of money comes from."

"Or maybe he knows but doesn't give a shit." Izanagi said. "It's kinda hard to not notice you, what with being one of the recurring champions of the Little Cup." He thought for a moment. "Strega-sponsored, no less."

"Look, it rakes in the dollars, alright?" She snapped. "I don't see you having a single dad to support. What the hell are you doing down here, anyway?"

"Working. You know, selling toxic chemicals. The usual." Izanagi said blithely. The Mienfoo raised an eyebrow, so he elaborated. "Fine, I heard you were in the area and decided to check up on you. What, is that a crime now?"

"You don't have to call your drugs toxins." His female companion said. "We get it. You don't snort or inhale the shit. You hate selling them. Big deal."

"Yeah, got it miss Champion." Izanagi said, rolling his eyes, causing the Mienfoo to growl in irritation. "Listen, call me if your dad is up for a double drug run. I like working with him."

His only response was a tomboyish grunt. _Whatever, _the message said.

"Okay, I'm going back to work on the surface. See ya, Ashka." Smiling faintly, Izanagi grabbed his bag and moved to walk towards the exit. "Good luck eviscerating your opponents, okay?"

"Yeah, whatever." Ashka mumbled back. She paused, then raised a paw in farewell. "Thanks, Izanagi."

"No problem."

XXX

The time was noon. The skies were beginning to clear up. He could feel the sun's rays poking through the smog-ridden skyline, bathing the city in pale green light. The sector's residents, most of which had avoided the rain like the proverbial plague, were beginning to emerge from their dwellings.

Izanagi walked down the concrete path of Morra Parade, past the entrance to the junkyard and into Downtown's shopping district. Vendors were warming up their stoves and warmers, protecting their wares with large, vicious animals or a variety of sidearms.

"How much for those noodles?"

"Ten dollars."

He sat on an upturned bin, slurping down the yellow noodles. Sitting on the curb left you liable to mugging. Even in the most crowded street of Downtown, the prepared were always lurking in the shadows, ready to take advantage of the unguarded.

_I wonder if anybody has sent me a text. _He reached into his bag and took out his mobile. _Nope, nothing. Not surprised. Not anything from Rune._

He was just about to close down the OS and shove it back into his bag when a certain graphic caught his eye. Specifically, the tiny image of a swirling mass of sky blue energy surrounded by a void black space.

Aether.

The game he had received this morning, which he hadn't tried because he had been too busy.

An enigma, shrouded in his own laziness.

_Well, I did promise I would try it out. _He checked the time. Still only ten minutes past twelve. He had loads of it. _Fuck it, I might as well do it now. Best get it out of the way so it doesn't lag me down for the rest of the day._

He booted it up, waited for the loading screen to clear and entered.

**New Game**

Immediately, text appeared on screen, exactly as his friend had promised. A question-the so called riddle.

**I come from the ground and clench to a pillar. What am I?**

_A tree? No, I haven't even seen one in real life. A Diglett? Those don't have any hands, and they don't even exist. Some really creepy stalker with magical tunnelling powers?_

He paused and let the weight of that sentence sink in.

_And suddenly I know absolutely nothing about this at all. _He groaned internally and rolled his eyes. _Screw it, this game blows. I'm out of here. _

He put the mobile back in his bag and stood up. Around him, the crowd of Pokemon milled, the scent of various assortments of food high in the air. He walked, and slipped into it, becoming nothing more than part of a teeming mass of bodies and noise. Actual things were happening in other parts of the city, and despite the amount of strain on the horizon, he anticipated it.

Finally, some work that didn't involve selling life-threatening chemicals to people on the street.

* * *

**Comments and constructive criticism is always accepted. They are my motivation to update!**


	3. Execute

_split Three_In_One: [1, 2, 3, 4, 5]_

_print chapter 3_

* * *

One hour into the future, and Izanagi found himself knees down on the ground, a sponge in one paw and a plastic pail of soapy water in another. The precious job Rune Johanson had assigned him, for cash that didn't involve selling toxic chemicals, was basically to clean the bar by hand. A exhausting job, no doubt, and a tedious one at that.

Perhaps this was a form of sick revenge directed at his brief drug-dealing escapade in the past, despite the bouncer literally handing his ass to him afterwards. Then again, he couldn't say he didn't deserve that humiliating punishment.

He shrugged as he shoved his paw inside the plastic pail, coating it with foam and the artificial smell of pine lime. In all honesty, this experience could have been much worse. It wasn't like he was unfamiliar with the concept of housework. Mother Dolorosa ordered every kid back at the orphanage to chip in with the cleaning, once they grew to the age where they could wield a portable vacuum cleaner without falling over.

Even so, he could have lived without cleaning the toilets. The godawful smell emanating from their bowels had made him want to rip off his own nose and set it aflame. Before arriving, the young Dewott hadn't known lavatories had the potential to smell like Downtown Junkyard. But apparently they now did. Must be all the bootleg alcohol people were drinking these days.

"Excuse me, mister?"

This was the kind of voice that simultaneously brough out out two opinions within Izanagi: somewhat adorable yet as much fun as scraping his skin with the sharpened holes of a cheese grater. In other words, the same type of resonations emerging from his very own voice as a child.

He stopped scrubbing the plaster-lined wall and turned around. "Hey."

A Pachirisu, around six years of age, looked up at him with beady, black eyes. "Can I use the toilet?" the child asked, mumbling the words as he spoke.

Izanagi gaze back at the pale white monstrosity; the fiendish object which he had spent the last fifteen minute unclogging with a plunger, pinching his nose with the strength of a mighty titan as he did so. He then looked back at the child.

"Uh, sorry." He said, motioning to the rag in his paw, "Kinda busy here. Do you think you could come back in a few minutes?"

"But I really have to go!" the kid whined, "Like, right now."

Izanagi sighed. "Number one or number two?"

The Pachirisu frowned and scratched the back of his young head. "What do those words mean?"

Okay, so maybe children weren't familiar with adult slang. "Put it this way. Do you have to take a piss?"

The kid nodded. "Uh-huh."

"Alright, go," Izanagi said, motioning towards the ghastly urinal device. He shuddered to think the type of people who used it with such reckless abandon. This kind of shit would never fly back in the orphanage—both metaphorically and literally. "Just…try not to make a mess, okay?"

Without saying anything in reply, the Pachirisu hopped onto the toilet seat and sat down. Scrunching up his face, Izanagi returned to scrubbing the tiles. Rune had wanted the place 'spick-and-span', as she had told to his face, which was odd because no other bartender in Downtown ever paid so much attention to general hygiene. They would give the place a hoover and a quick scrub, but they certainly wouldn't store half a dozen bottles of military-grade detergent.

He tried his hardest not to think about the gentle 'tink-tink' emanating from the toilet bowl. People like himself were the reason toilet stalls were invented, he reasoned, applying soggy rag towards restroom wall as he did so. The mere sound of his fellow Pokemon urinating would never fail to send a shiver up his spine. Not fear, mind you. Just average discomfort.

"Hey, mister." The Pachirisu chirped, snapping Izanagi out of his oddly urinal-centric thoughts. "What's your name."

"Izanagi."

"Iza…na..gi?" The kid twisted his mouth, confused. "Whassit mean?"

"I have no idea." The eponymous Dewott muttered. "Tried looking it up on the Internet when I was old enough. Got no results."

"It sounds cool!" The kid smiled. "Like a badass thunder deity, or something. Maybe even a super powerful warrior, fighting off demons in hell!"

Izanagi couldn't help but snort at that. He had forgotten how enthusiastic little children could be. Before cruelty, hunger and reality slapped them across the face, and their round smiles ever so slowly curled downwards into the familiar grim slash.

Then again, this child belonged to a foster family. He had people who cared for him; two sisters, one old and one young. Perhaps he had seen happier times, unlike Izanagi, who often found himself skulking around alone in the orphanage, fiddling around with whatever piece of outdated technology happened to lurk his way. And better he enjoy his innocence how before taking his first tentative steps into the harsh world of today.

"What's your name?" He asked.

"Harper." The kid replied. "It's sounds weird. What do you think it means?"

"Probably somebody who plays dubstep with a synthesizer," Izanagi replied absentmindedly, trying his hardest to remove a sickening hard, brown lump off a wall. Simultaneously, he wondered how Harper could see his name as 'cool'. It was as abnormal as names could get. "I don't know, really."

"Oh." Harper paused. "Izanagi, what do you do to make money?"

"Why do you want to know?" Izanagi asked.

"I just do."

"And I think you're way too young to be thinking about that."

"C'mon, tell me! Pleeeeease?" Izanagi couldn't help but roll his eyes. Damn kid was even doing that clichéd puppy-dog eye thing at him. A cliché that was a millennia year old and no longer worked, crushed under the oppressive smog and the rainfall of cynicism that drenched 99% of Downtown's population. It wasn't cute or effective, just plain annoying.

"Yeah, no," Izanagi stated, voice flat as a well-beaten coin. "It's not worth getting thrown into a dumpster full of broken glass and rusty tin cans."

"You're mean." Harper whined, which was undoubtedly the default response said by children when they couldn't get their way, "Fine. One day I'll find out. And then I'll truly be a man."

"Sure you will." The older Dewott muttered, barely noticing Harper hop off the toilet seat and exit the bathroom. God, this stain was taking forever to wipe off. The damn thing was practically a lump of diamond embedded onto a ceramic wall, or a mineral of near equivalent density. He wouldn't know. Never got to feel a real diamond before. It simply didn't lie inside his line or work. And nobody sane in Downtown would dare flash strings jewels in the street, unless they secretly possessed a mugging fetish.

Should he feel guilty for barely interacting with the kid? Nah, not really. It wasn't like he was going to spend the majority of his work days hanging around here. Every day, the crowds of Downtown passed through his sight like a toxic stream flowing into a purification plant. They would fade the day's recollections, disappearing into the abyss of his sleep. Harper was just another guy, honestly. Younger, but nonetheless somebody he couldn't afford to care about.

Ah, finally. The stain was coming off. Maybe he could cease jamming imaginary nails into his shins. Kneeling for almost half an hour did that to a person.

After giving the toilet a good flush to cleanse out Harper's piss, he emerged from the bathroom and into the main lounge of Rune's bar.

"Finished already?" The eponymous Lopunny said, quirking an eyebrow upwards. "Not bad. So, how was it?"

"Could've been worse." Izanagi said nonchalantly, lugging his borrowed equipment across to the other side of the room and depositing it in a locker. His voice contained no bravado. "You should try and take a dump in the Strega Fight Club something."

"Heh. Too right." Rune walked over and peeked into the bathroom. This coincidentally gave the young Dewott a nice view of her rear.

_Oh shit._

A view that he hastily looked away from, cursing his hormones at the same time. Rune possessed quite the voluptuous body, and Izanagi had long since understood why her bar was so popular.

But fuck it, he had his dignity. His peers, and Dolorosa, had taught him so. Spying on women was an act committed only by idiotic degenerates, presumably high on weed. Yeah, in the eyes of most Technogakure residents he was most likely scum, and he was well aware of it. Still, that didn't mean he couldn't respect his fellow Mon, gender notwithstanding.

"Well, it seems like you did a pretty good job. I'm impressed." Rune announced, looking back at him. "Didn't think drug dealers had the spine for hard work. Always thought they lounged around on the streets, stinking the place up. Guess you proved me wrong, kid."

"I'll take that as a compliment." Izanagi muttered, lookg down.

"And you should."

"So, what am I supposed to do now?" Izanagi asked, crossing his arms. "I already vacuumed the floor, mopped the kitchen and wiped every single table in this damn place." The latter task turned out better than expected. He only said that because Rune deliberately closed the bar for preparations. It meant he didn't have to talk to as many people. "The job can't be over, because you haven't paid me yet."

"Who says I'm not going to pay you now?" Rune said, stubbing out her cigarette in a nearby ashtray.

"…nobody gets paid this much for a few hours of housework. Unless their employer is brain-damaged, of course."

"True that." Rune said, "Yeah, you aren't paid until after the Strega party packs up and leaves. The thing is, now that you've pitched in with the cleaning, there isn't really anything for you to do at the moment. I was going to send you on a courier run with my bouncer, but after that last fiasco I don't think the two of you have the right chemistry."

"So what, do I just fuck around here for a few hours, doing absolutely nothing?"

"If you want. You'll resume work at 6 pm. I recommend getting some grub inside of you before then."

"Oh. Cool." Izanagi sighed, feeling some sort of burden lift from his shoulders. Free time, in the middle of the day no less. Usually he'd spend the morning and the afternoon roaming the pavement, torturing his feet, flogging his wares to anybody interested. At night, he would wander home, eat whatever flash meal pack happened to be available and collapse on the futon, exhausted. "Wait, are you seriously letting me stay here?"

"Actually, now that I think about it, I think my bouncer hates your guts." Rune admitted.

"No surprise." Izanagi snorted. There was one adjective he could describe the man with: unforgettable. It was difficult to use the antonym, what with the bulging muscles, scarred eye and a gun half the size of an average Mon's torso. "He tossed me into a dumpster and threatened to shoot my face full of plasma. Yeah, we definitely don't have the right chemistry."

"So the feeling is mutual. Have fun doing whatever it is you're going to do here, but don't make a racket." Rune smiled, and adjourned off to who-knows-where. Izanagi didn't give a crap. All he cared about was this table in front of him, and his plastic bag which would very soon double as a makeshift pillow.

Tired. He felt as if all his limbs had been replaced by lead bars. Thick, heavy extremely dense bars the size of sewer pipes. The poisonous quality of the mineral also held some metaphor. He had no idea which one. Undoubtedly, all that housework had taken a huge chunk of him. _Well, no shit. _The back of his mind growled. _You can't expect to spend hours on your knees, wiping down muck and feel completely refreshed afterwards. _

Said part of his brain then slapped him across the cheek.

He gently laid his head down on his bag, noting at its uncharacteristic emptiness. Normally, he would be standing on a street corner by now, fiddling with his weapon, mounds of boxes laid on the sidewalk. He hadn't fired his gun in days, and sincerely hoped he would never get the chance but the mere presence of the microfusion cell powered firearm was enough to convince most people to think twice.

Good thing too, because he was a terrible shot. Give him ten rounds plus a target twenty metres away, and he'd only hit it once.

_My gun. Why does that sound familiar? What was I supposed to do?_

His head might as well be made out of solid concrete. And then, out of some sheer divine will, he remembered.

_Oh yeah, I need to buy some more microfusion cells. I'm running out. I only have two left, right?_

But fuck it, he was so exhausted right now. He tried to get his legs to move, but to no-one's surprise they didn't obey his demands. He slumped further down on the table, groaning.

Perhaps he should close his eyes, and rest for a bit. Rune wouldn't mind. He had her permission. He wasn't going to be bothering anybody. And it wasn't like he was an intruder; he worked here for the time being.

Yeah…

He was going to take a little nap. Rest for a while, get his bearings, then move out later on.

It wouldn't take long at all…

* * *

…

…

…

_His eyelids opened. _

_Instantly he knew that this was not reality. Reality was a cruel and harsh mistress, devouring hope in her wide, fanged maw and spitting monotony on the serving plate of life. The whole of Technogakure was subject to her power, bowing before her eternal, iron-fisted reign._

_No, reality was never as brightly lit as this._

_He stood in his room. Why, he wondered? Wasn't he somewhere else just a minute ago? Had a minute even passed? Did this room actually belong to his apartment? An invisible haze had settled across his mind, and he couldn't decipher the questions passing through it._

_He turned and stared. Everyone was in place; the furniture, the lighting, his possessions. His battered laptop, rescued from a collapsing junk store at the age of fifteen. His cupboard stacked with meals, packets of dried soup and his meagre set of cutlery. A futon outstretched on the hard floor, one of the few comforts he had. _

_The scene should be normal. He saw it every single day. And yet, somehow, it wasn't. For one, he couldn't recall his room being this bright. To save money, he would set the lighting to the minimum. Now, the strip of fluorescent light above seemed to be working into overdrive, showering the room with its radiance. It wasn't just that, though. Izanagi could sense a certain quality emanating from the walls, washing him in a sense of eerie calmness._

_Organic? Was that the term to describe it?_

_He wouldn't, or rather couldn't, understand. When was the last time he had seen a sprightly blade of grass shooting up from cracks in the pavement, withstanding the harsh winds of the city? When had _anybody _from his generation seen anything remotely nature-related? If the folk tales to be believed, the ones Mother Dolorosa read aloud before sleepy-time, the goddess Shaymin was currently having a long and ardous lament._

_He walked over to the window, and placed his paw across the transparent surface. It was dark outside. Too dark. Thick, grey, heavy clouds obscured the view, stretching as far as the eye could see. They, like everything else with this scenario, appeared unusual. For one, they actually looked like they were loaded with real moisture, instead of pesticides, factory wastes and the like._

_It shouldn't happen. His apartment was on the third floor, nowhere near the skyline. Not to mention, the building itself didn't reach that level anyways._

_Without warning, he sunk against the wall, hugging himself tightly with both arms._

"_So empty…" he mumbled, not even sure why he was doing so. His lips moved without the thought passing through his head. "So cold…"_

"_So alone…"_

* * *

"ATTEN-SHUN!"

It was as if a steamroller had suddenly converted itself into sound waves, then slammed themselves directly into Izanagi's eardrum. His head shot upwards, shoved straight back into dizzying reality.

"Wha—"

"RISE AND SHINE, MAGGOT!" The voice screamed, threatening to defragment the sound barrier at any second. "ANY MORE SLEEPING ON THE JOB AND YOU'LL BE SCRUBBING THE TOILETS BY DAWN!"

Scrubbing the toilets? Didn't he just do that…?

He blinked twice, rubbed his eyes and oh god it was something straight out of a nightmare.

"AWAKE, PRIVATE? GOOD! DROP AND GIVE ME FIFTY, RIGHT HERE AND RIGHT NOW! FAILURE TO COMPLY WILL RESULT IN AN IMMEDIATE AND DIRECT TRANSFER...OF YOUR ASS TOWARDS MY FOOT!"

Fuck fuck fuck _shit._

Ricky. Rune's Bouncer. A big, burly Raichu, scarred across his left eye, holding a tri-beamed plasman rifle. Izanagi hadn't seen the muscle-bound Mon in nearly two years. Yet the situation was almost exactly the same; Ricky holding the butt of the rifle under Izanagi's chin, the former with an extremely aggravated expression, the latter shaking and about to piss himself.

_I'm dead. I am so fucking dead._

"Oh god." Izanagi choked, as he visualized a shocker charge ejecting out of the barrel and mezzing his head into neon green goo. This was so surreal and terrifying and he almost imagined his life flashing before his black eyes. "I'm sorry."

"DO NOT LOOK AT ME, I DID NOT ASK YOU A QUESTION!" Ricky screamed, lifting the rifle and jabbing it against the young Dewott's chest. The strength behind the blow sent the poor Dewott crashing to the ground, along with the chair. "YOU ARE ALREADY IN HUGE SHIT FROM THAT PREVIOUS COURT MARTIAL! NOW PRIVATE, GET OFF YOUR LAZY ASS AND DROP TO THE FLOOR!"

This _really _was a nightmare.

"Okay, okay, oooookay." Izanagi, who had curled up into a ball, had never been so glad to hear Rune's firm voice. "That's enough, Ricky. You're gonna traumatize the poor kid. Put that peashooter away while you're at it, okay?"

"Ma'am, my firearm is not a standard Downtown pistol cobbled together from scrap parts and leaking batteries, it's a T-525 Matter Disintegrator that I shelled out a lot of dosh for."

"I don't care…" Rune scowled, walking forward and jabbing Ricky on the chest. She wrenched the gun out of the bouncer's paws and slammed it on the table. Izanagi's eyes widened. "What the hell made you want to hurl furious army talk at a sleeping kid? I know he tried to sell drugs here before, that's all toxic sludge under the sewer bridge. You already punished him, dammit!"

"It was just a joke." Ricky said, raising his arms in defense. "I didn't mean to harm him, I swear."

Rune's glare could have reduced the plasma rifle into nothing more than a pile of lead and steel. And yet Ricky didn't budge an inch. "Maybe you fooled around with your colleagues back in the army, but this is a fifteen year old child we're talking about here! Even if he is a Downtown orphan, that doesn't mean he's as hard as you are."

_Actually, I'm sixteen. _Said the part of Izanagi's brain that wasn't currently freaking the fuck out. That was to say, less than ten per cent of it.

"Alright alright Rune, calm your furry tits. I'll apologize to him. Ricky stared down at the young Dewott with what was probably intended as a bashful grin. In reality, it was more of an annoyed grimace. "Sorry I roared wind at you, kid. Meant it as a joke. Don't think you took it quite well."

"That." Izanagi gasped, "Was a joke?"

"Affirmative, private." Ricky said.

"It was fucking terrifying, that's what it was." The young Dewott growled. "Do you realize you scared the shit out of me, the last time I came to this bar? When you woke me up with that plasma rifle, I thought I had been catapulted into the worst dream of my life. What were you thinking?"

"Hey, I apologized, didn't I?"

"You know what? Screw this. Screw this job, all that cleaning, I'm quit." Izanagi said, rolling to his feet and grabbing his bag, "See you both."

"You're quitting?" Rune cried, eyes wide, "But we need you!"

Izanagi whirled around and fixed her with a steely stare, teeth clenched, eyes almost bugging out of their sockets; the whole lot. "And I don't." he growled.

"Now listen here, cadet." Ricky frowned, motioning towards Izanagi, "I know I scared you with that little escapade, but that's no reason to bail out on us. Do you ever understand the meaning of—"

But Izanagi had long since disappeared from the bar, leaving behind nothing other than the overturned chair to signify his presence.

"Dammit, kiddo…"

* * *

The time was 5 in the afternoon. Izanagi only found this out after he had raced down the entirety of Morra Parade and turned in the direction of the battered Downtown Church. The electronic shriek of the church bell rang through the air, signalling the dawn of a new hour. Now, the eternal smog began to cover the sun, splashing the skyline in olive green. Give or take a few hours and the streets would be crawling with hoodlums, more so than they already were.

He felt awful.

Sure, Ricky had scared the everloving crap out of him, but that was no reason to snap at Rune, then bounce. He didn't even get paid, for god's sake. All that hard work, completely down the sewer hole.

_There is nothing worse than knowing that your day has been wasted._

He sighed as he clutched his stomach. The organ rumbled, demanding edibles to be shoved down into bulging sac. Today had not been a good day. It would certainly set him back. Guess he needed to work thrice as hard tomorrow.

Luckily, there was always a food vendor hanging around the church. The congregation usually enjoyed a bite and a drink after a lengthy sermon. Izanagi, like many of Downtown's residents, had observed that term being a somewhat disingenuous one. It was hard to identify the nutters who actually believed in the god Arceus, as opposed to the layabouts who only hung around the church for its central heating system.

He purchased a _Yakisoba-pan, _a hot dog bun stuffed with fried noodles and processed meat, and immediately tore into it, relishing the trickle of the melted margarine and soft crust of the white bread. Next up was a pink can of creamy soda, the former adjective being an utter lie. He hadn't realized how thirsty he was. Apparently fear sucked all the moisture out of your lips.

He found a spot on the church steps, worn and dented by time, and sat down, watching the hazy image of the sun descend towards the horizon. People were milling around him, their voices blending into a opaque mass of static. Afternoon service had just ended. This meant that the church would close for the day, and everyone expect the priests and the workers would be kicked out. Bully for the homeless, he guessed.

"And lo, the divine creator sees fit to end the day in peace!"

A shrill, squeaky voice, piercing past the noise of the crowd, caught Izanagi's ear, and he looked behind him. Standing between the gates of the church was a Drifloon—already a rare sight in modern society—blaring through a megaphone clenched in one tendril. The man, or woman; Izanagi had never really bothered to check, lived in the church, driving away evil spirits through exorcism. At least, that was what an Internet friend had told him. It all reeked of someone being cracked too hard on the head as a kid.

Wait, did Drifloons actually have children? Could they lay eggs? Whatever. Biology didn't interest him. And how could it? The only 'education' most Downtown orphans received was basic reading and writing. The rest was fair game.

"Now, as his subjects, we must ensure that this world is fit for the next stage of its evolution. Let us unite, in harmony with the power of Arceus and Giratina, and we shall return to the Chosen Land!"

The Drifloon's name was Daryl. Again, another fact given to him by an Internet friend. That was a male name. But, in history, there had been numerous examples of men being given female names; the most prominent of which was a Grovyle named Gaia. So much for that.

It was at this point that Izanagi noticed the Drifloon gently levitating down the steps, towards his direction.

_Maybe if I don't pay any attention to him, he won't talk to me. _He chewed a mouthful of yakisoba, before washing it down with the soda. _I just want to eat this in peace._

"You there, young soul. Would you like to learn more about the Chosen Land and its enlightened denizens?"

Fuck dammit never mind.

"No." he said. "I would not like to learn about this Chosen Land, nor its enlightened people."

"Why not?" Daryl the Drifloon questioned, sounding genuinely concerned, as if Izanagi had just uttered an urge to inject himself with the deadly Hepatitis F. "By believing in Arceus, you'll live life with gratitude and hope…isn't it wonderful? Just have faith in the Almighty Creator, and everything shall go well."

"And yet I somehow don't trust any of that. I guess it's because never had faith in any religion in the first place." Izanagi replied, taking another swig from the pink can. "It's all a lot of rubbish to me."

He expected the Daryl to yell at him, get offended and the like. Not engage in violence, it was far too crowded for that. Reality proved him wrong.

"Well, that's okay then. The Almighty Creator sees all, including the ignorant, as his children. As long as you live your life as the best person you can be, you too shall ascend to the skies above."

Izanagi stared, and scowled at him. "Did you just call me ignorant?"

"We did." Daryl smiled, or at least Izanagi thought he did. It was hard to tell when the dude had a yellow cross for a face. For all he knew, Daryl could be giving them the saddest frown in the world. "Have a nice day!"

And with a wink, the Drifloon floated off into the distance, leaving a rather confused and irritated Dewott drug dealer behind.

* * *

It was time to head home.

The streets were deserted, and the veil of dusk hung above the city, like a looming vampire about to pierce its victims. The sun always rose late and descended early. It made things very inconvenient for the young Dewott.

Izanagi walked briskly down the road, staying under the streetlights. The ones that worked and weren't bashed to shards by sociopathic vandals. The trick was to put on a façade of confidence. Tiptoeing slowly left you wide open to ambush. Running meant insecurity and you would often get shot in the back by a shocker charge. Treading the fine line sounded difficult, but the young Dewott had years of experience to go off from.

So today had been absolutely horrible. It had started well enough, with the prospect of cash that didn't come criminal activities, but then his own stupid emotions had to take over and ruin the entire thing for him. Izanagi had never been an overly vicious person, like a certain Mienfoo he knew, but his upbringing made him cynical and slightly bitter about reality. And sometimes that nature of his transformed into anger and exploded out into the open world. Perhaps that what he got for bottling up his emotions and hardly ever communicating with his peers.

His phone suddenly buzzed. He kept it on vibration mode at night. A ringtone was more or less the sound equivalent of a firework bursting into the night sky, displaying the message 'PLEASE STAB ME' in rainbow psychedelic lights.

_What the hell? It's that Aether game. _

Blue background littered with pure white clouds, standard menu with three buttons, lack of holograms…it was Aether, alright. No chiptune music, though. Vibration mode automatically brought any current directed towards the phone speakers to a screeching halt.

And then, without warning, the screen flashed white and text scrolled across it.

**I come from the ground and clench to a pillar. What am I?**

_It's that same damn riddle. _He sighed and rolled his eyes. This was such a nice way to end the day. Putting up with a glitching game that he didn't even want to play. First things tomorrow morning, he was erasing this shit. _I don't have time for this bullshit. Exit._

He tapped the screen, fully wanting the game to fade away and be replaced with the oh-so-familiar home menu.

Nothing happened.

**I come from the ground and clench to a pillar. What am I?**

The game wasn't letting him exit.

**I come from the ground and clench to a pillar. What am I?**

How was this any possible? What sort of developer would even code an application like this?

**I come from the ground and clench to a pillar. What am I?**

_Oh dammit, just me leave this fucking game! _He shouted in his head, rapidly slamming his right paw onto the screen. _Hurry up already._

A pause.

And then the screen flashed black, before it was flooded with white.

**Updating…**

**Updating…**

**Update complete.**

**Aether Mark II**

**The True Trial of the World Beyond**

The riddle had disappeared, and a whole new sentence had taken its place.

"**From the void I once emerged, and into the void I shall now descend. My name is existence."**

_What…what is this? _Izanagi whispered, _Aether Mark 2? _

That's when everything went to hell in a hand basket.

The world froze. All motion stopped. The colors faded from his surroundings, dull greys and pitch blacks replacing the light shining down from the lamppost, overwriting the cobalt covering his hands and body. The clouds in the sky had been caught, as if in a freeze frame. It was as if the entire world had been forced into a state of monochrome paralysis.

Only one thing stood out amongst the darkness. The game. Aether Mark II, a shining blue patch in the midst of black surrounding the young Dewott.

He stared, transfixed at the screen. More text appeared.

**Connection initializing…**

Izanagi tried to move, to run, to drop the phone and get the hell out of this nightmare; to hide in his futon like a terrified child and never ever ever leave its safety again. Nothing. He tried to cry out for help. His vocal cords were frozen.

Something grabbed him. Slimy, repulsive, torrid. Fingers clenched his legs and dug into his fur. A pool of purple-black energy had formed around his feet, and from it numerous hands emerged, wrapping around his legs, torso, everything.

_Oh god. Oh god god god god god no no no nonononononono_

He wanted to scream. He wanted to resist the tentacle-like limbs, to prevent himself from being dragged down into the void, towards god-knows-where. But nothing came out. He was forced to see through paralyzed vision; to suffer his demise knowing that there was _absolutely nothing _he could do about it.

The hands wrapped around his legs, clenched hold of his torso, curled around his neck and with an almighty tug, pulled him straight down into emptiness

He descended into the void, silent and invisible.

The darkness faded from the city, reviving it to its sickening state, and the night of Downtown resumed.

There was no indication that a young Dewott, sixteen years old and a drug dealer, had ever existed there.

**Parsing sever info…**

**Retrieving server info…**

**Sending client data…**

* * *

**A/N: Once again, I took way longer than intended. I am deeply apologetic for this. Probably shouldn't embark on a different writing project when I already got one in the works, no?**

**Two things about this chapter: One, I don't think I characterized Ricky right. So to ThreeInOne, I apologize. Secondly, I look forward to writing more about Daryl, and the upcoming arc.**

**I won't make any promises about when the next chapter will appear. As always, comments and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated.**

**See you guys next time.**


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